The stories behind the buildings, statues and other points of interest that make Manhattan fascinating.

Friday, November 7, 2014

The 1897 Fahys Mansion -- No. 310 W 73rd Street

In 1896 construction began on George E. Fahy’s new home at
No. 310 West 73rd Street. At
a time when the Upper West Side erupted in eccentric residential architecture
sprouting gargoyles, turrets and carved grotesques; mansion architect C. P. H.
Gilbert had designed a formal Renaissance Revival residence that would have been
quite at home on the opposite side of Central Park.

The ever-active George Ernest Fahys was Vice-President of
the Fayhs Watch Case Co. at No. 54 Maiden Lane; President of the Brooklyn Watch
Case Co.; President of the jewelry firm Alvin Mfg. Co.; Vice-President of the
Montauk Steamboat Co.; Treasure of the Sag Harbor Water Co.; and Vice-President
of the Jewellers’ Association and Board of Trade. The Fahys family moved into the 16-room house
in 1897.

Unlike Gilbert’s wealthy patrons on the East Side, it would
seem that Fahys watched costs closely. The
house was clad in iron-spot Roman brick chosen to closely match the rusticated
limestone base. And elaborate terra cotta embellishments took
the place of more costly carved stone.
Nevertheless, Gilbert had produced a striking five-story mansion
appropriate to the owner’s wealth and position.

Three stories projected away from the façade not only
to create a handsome terrace at the fourth floor, accessed by an elaborate
Palladian-style set of openings; but it distinctly separated the main entrance
from the service door at the western side.
The shallow stoop and side yard were guarded by limestone walls and
iron fencing.

“The entrance is through a door of massive iron grille work
into a fine entrance hall paneled in San Domingo mahogany and with ceiling
beams of the same wood,” described The New York Times later. “Back of this are kitchen and pantries large
enough to meet the wants of a good-sized hotel.”

The second floor housed the mahogany-paneled library with
built in bookcases. The library engulfed
about half of the interior space of that floor.
“Back of this is a daintily furnished drawing room decorated in white,”
said the newspaper. Also on this floor
was the nearly-round dining room wainscoted with mahogany interspersed with
French vernis Martin-decorated panels.

On the upper three floors were eleven bedrooms and the
servants’ rooms. The New York Times
deemed that all of them “except those occupied by the servants, [are] decorated
in the most artistic manner.”

George E. Fahys would live in the new mansion only six
years. On February 7, 1903 the Real
Estate Record & Builders’ Guide noted that he had sold the house to Mrs.
Richard C. Veit. In reality, it was her
husband, who was Superintendent of the Foreign Department of the Standard Oil
Company, who was the purchaser. But in
the early days of the 20th century, high-end homes were most often
put in the name of the wives; thereby providing them additional financial
security in the case of the breadwinner’s death.

At the time of the sale, the 73rd Street house
had unobstructed views of the Hudson River and the New Jersey palisades. The
Times would later mention “Only one house stands between it and Riverside
Drive, and the front is built out in such a manner that the front windows
command the sweep of the drive and the river beyond.”

Directly across the street construction of Charles M. Schwab’s
gargantuan block-encompassing mansion was ongoing. It would be another three years before the
multi-millionaire’s massive French Renaissance chateau was completed.

Moving into No. 310 with his parents was 19-year old Arthur
S. Veit. The boy managed to publicly embarrass
his family two years later when he was involved in a police raid—and then made
matters worse.

The district between 23rd Street and 42nd
Street, from about Fifth to Seventh Avenues was known as the Tenderloin. Here brothels, illegal gambling houses, and
crime-ridden dives were uncontrolled.
Crime and vice thrived with the help of corrupt local police. Arthur
Veit was in the notorious Cairo on Friday night, January 13, when police
rushed in.

Among those taken away to the West 30th Street
station house were young Veit and a woman of ill-repute. Arthur pledged “his” house at No. 310 West 73rd
Street as bail to get the two of them out of jail.
It was a bad decision.

On January 15 police interviewed the Standard Oil
mogul. The New York Times reported “In
the interview Veit’s father was alleged to have said that he, and not his son,
owned the property in Seventy-third Street where they live, and that his son
had no right to pledge it for bail.’

Young Veit had not only gotten himself in trouble at home;
he was in deeper trouble with the law.
Magistrate Ommen was infuriated at the boy’s insolence. “I am going up to the Tenderloin Police
Station and I am going to investigate this matter thoroughly. It is very serious,” he told reporters. “If this man has gone on that bond and did
not own the property he has committed a felony, and I shall place the matter in
the hands of District Attorney Jerome.
Even though the young man owned the property, he had no legal right to
go on the bond, because in the eyes of the law he is a minor at nineteen.”

Later that year, in October, Richard Veit sold the mansion
to Congressman Timothy D. Sullivan. The New York Times said “Mr. Veit is giving up the
house because his sons are at college, his daughter was married recently, and
only himself and Mrs. Veit, with a corps of servants, remain to occupy it.”

Called by The Times “the original ‘Big
Tim’ of New York and ‘Dry Dollar’ of Albany,” Sullivan essentially controlled the Bowery and Lower East
Side districts as an important Tammany Hall figure. His imposing stature led to the “Big Tim” tag. Born
in the infamous Five Points slums, he had risen from a shoeshine boy to a
wealthy businessman and influential politician.

Tim Sullivan was a highly-popular Tammany Hall politician among the Bowery and Lower East Side voters. from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWMXY6B2&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

Despite Sullivan’s past involvement in criminal activity and
electoral fraud, he was serving in the U.S. Congress when he purchased the 73rd
Street house. On reporting the sale,
The Times said “To make his entry into the upper circles in befitting style
Congressman Sullivan has purchased the house at 310 West Seventy-third Street,
one of the handsomest residences in the Riverside section.”

Sullivan paid Veit $90,000 for the mansion—about $2.4
million in today’s dollars. The contract allowed the Veits to stay on in the house until December 14. The newspaper said “The house is built for
entertaining on a large scale…Mr. Veit has in it to-day a fine library and a
valuable collection of paintings, said to be one of the best private
collections in the city. These, however,
will not pass to the new owner, although it is contemplated that an arrangement
will be made by which some of the elaborate furnishings and costly rugs will
remain in the house when Mr. Sullivan takes possession.”

The Times poked fun at the man who came from such humble
beginnings, saying in a sub-headline “He’ll Now Keep a Butler.” The
article added “While Congressman Sullivan’s new move will no doubt bring dismay
to his thousands of friends on the Bowery, it is understood that he will desert
them only in the sense of taking up a new abode.”

Like the Veits, however, the Sullivans would remain in the
house only three years. In May 1909 Hannah
Sullivan sold the mansion. It became the
home of Henry Zuckerman and his family.
Entertainments in No. 310 West 73rd Street were once again a bit more upscale than they had been during the Sullivan residency. Mrs. Zuckerman was actively involved in the
charitable causes and events expected of the wives of moneyed businessmen.

In December 1910 she was busy with the special performance at
the Metropolitan Opera House for the benefit of the Widowed Mothers’ Fund
Association. Among the stars to appear
would be Anna Pavlowa. With her on the
committee were wealthy socialites like Mrs. Randolph Guggenheimer, Mrs. Joseph
E. Hoffman and Mrs. Daniel Guggenheim.

The house would be the scene of debutante entertainments for
daughter Nellie in 1912. Nellie graduated
from Wellesley in June that year. On
December 9 a marathon of activities included a 4:00 to 7:00 reception a theater
party, with 50 guests returning to West 73rd Street for supper
and a dance.

A year later excitement began all over again when Nellie’s
engagement to Arthur J. Cohen was announced.

Although they retained ownership of the house, the Zuckeman
family, too, moved on. In June 1914
Henry Zuckerman leased the mansion to H. J. Wallace; then in October 1916 to
Joseph E. O’Kelly and his wife Mercedes.
The O’Kelly family was living in the house when the United States
entered World War I. Joseph John O’Kelly
entered the Field Artillery Section of the Reserve Corps of the U.S. Army,
rising to 2nd Lieutenant by 1920.

That year, in October, the O’Kellys purchased the house from
Henry Zuckerman. Somewhat unexpectedly the house was soon
operated as a high-end boarding house, operated by Mary Lewis. Leona Jane Hertz was living here in June 1923
when she became engaged to the President of the Chesapeake Export Company,
Alfred Ettlinger. And by 1925 ballerina
Princess Caracciolo and her sister conducted a dance studio in the house.

Tragedy would befall another tenant, 23-year old Dorothy
Smith, the following year. Dorothy
earned her living as a “cloak model” despite her parents repeated urging “to
give up the struggle of trying to earn her own living in the city and return
home to stay,” according to The New York Times on September 28, 1926. The aspiring model insisted on pursuing her dreams,
however. Around the end of June she took
an apartment in the former mansion consisting of one room, a kitchenette and a
bath.

On September 27 she went to a nightclub, Sophie Tucker’s
Playground, on West 52nd Street where two young stock brokers struck
up a conversation. Francis Murphy was 24 years old and John J.
Fitzpatrick was 22. After a while
Murphy, who lived at No. 115 East 89th Street,
convinced Dorothy that the three should go to his apartment.

Once there, Dorothy discovered that the young brokers’
intentions were anything but respectable.
Trapped in the apartment she fought off their unwanted advances. Neighbors heard screams and protests coming
from the apartment for several minutes; then Dorothy Sullivan threw herself
from the fourth floor window to escape.

According to police, “After her leap she managed to crawl a
few feet. Fearing she was about to die,
she picked up a slip of paper in the yard and scribbled the word ‘Murphy’ on it
with a gold pencil suspended from a chain around her neck.” Later, at the hospital, she gave the police
the full names of her attackers.
Detectives went to the apartment and arrested Murphy and Fitzpatrick.

The men protested their innocence, saying the first they
learned of her leap was when they walked into the bedroom and she was not
there. Doctors, in the meantime, held
out little hope of Dorothy’s survival.

The coming and going of creative, West Side types would
continue for the next decade. Theodora
Irvine conducted a theater studio in the house in the 1930s; and at the same
time poet Margaret Belle Houston-Probert was a resident. Painter Raphael Ellender was living here in
1942.

More notorious and no less tragic was the story of Patrice
Leary, the 22-year old teacher who moved in after graduating from Smith College
in 1970. The neighborhood had declined
and upon taking the apartment Patrice added a second lock to her door. But it was not precaution enough.

On Thursday afternoon, October 29 neighbors noticed that her
door was ajar. The New York Times
reported that she “was beaten, stabbed repeatedly and strangled manually…The
police found the 6-inch blade of a kitchen knife in the dead woman’s chest.” There was no evidence that she had been
sexually molested and a medical examination showed that she was a virgin.

Police theorized that Patrice had entered the apartment with
bags of groceries. She left the door
unlocked while she put down the groceries, giving the assailant the opportunity
to attack. The condition of the kitchen spoke of the violent
struggle. “Tables and chairs were over-turned
and broken in the room,” said The New York Times on November 1. A hammer was retrieved with which the young
woman’s head had been bludgeoned, a telephone cord had been used to strangle
her, and the knife wound penetrated her heart.

Despite the description of a white male in his 20s seen
rushing from house, police were baffled.
By November 4 there were 75 men working full time to find the killer and
six days later a reward of $1,500 was offered.
The police called Patrice “a fine, decent girl, the kind of person you
want to help and protect.”

And yet the case finally went cold. No one was ever arrested in Patrice Leary’s
murder and the reason behind it remains a mystery.

In 1997 the former Fahys mansion was converted to two
spacious apartments per floor. Despite a
few exterior alterations, it remains a fine example of C. P. H. Gilbert’s residential
work on the Upper West Side.

2 comments:

Love your writing. Another fine history lesson on the birth of a gilded age mansion. Couldn't find the story of the Romanesque(?) mansion(s) next door so looking forward to possible reading about it in the future. Glad to see these have survived among all the apartment buildings around them.